You're Not Real, And You Can't Save Me
by pleasing-phoebe
Summary: **SPOILERS FROM SEASON 2 INCLUDED** When Owen Harper meets a very different young woman under strange circumstances, he'll encounter things Torchwood never prepared him for.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1.

**WARNING: SEASON 2 SPOILERS IN THIS STORY.**

Owen was dead, for the second time. Floating through blackness, aimlessly drifting through space and time. Galaxies, asteroid belts, entire solar systems… They passed him by like the trivial things they were. After all, he was dead. What mattered anymore? Nothing.

He looked back upon his life, wondering if his life was what he'd wanted. A good education? Nothing really came of that. Successful career in medicine? It was hardly relative, until Torchwood. And there it was. That one word had ruined his life, given him memories he could never erase. He had seen things the average person could never imagine and it scared him. The world had changed for him. No, not _for_ him. The world had changed him. He didn't see anything differently; everything was different. His perceptions made no impact upon what the reality of this was at all. Life had changed him, and he could do nothing about it.

Then suddenly, out of the blackness, there was a bump.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

Owen blinked. His eyes hurt from the sudden light. Wait. Light. Where was it coming from? Fully opening his eyes, he found himself staring into the midday sun which was warming him at approximately 25 degrees Celsius. Getting to his feet, he staggered about for a minute, learning to walk again it seemed. He felt like an infant again, discovering the new things in life. Although he couldn't be discovering things about life. He was dead.

He didn't recognise the neighbourhood. It was a tad too dusty for his liking, and the seemingly endless stretch of desert around him indicated he probably wasn't in Cardiff anymore. Kicking at the dusty road, he choked on a mouthful of dust, and turned around to squint at the dying sun as it set on the horizon. About a hundred yards away stood an old timber house, and past that he could see the outskirts of a small town, several miles away judging by the size of the buildings. He decided to walk towards the house, and see if he could use their telephone.

Approaching the house, he felt a familiar sense of dread. The kind of dread he felt when on a mission with Torchwood, and the unnerving knowledge that he might die. Trying to shake it off, Owen looked at the house critically. It had an old timber frame, with wide windows and curtains pulled tightly shut. An old truck was parked at the side, the boot filled with old-style gardening implements; scythes and hoes and the like. He found the doorbell and rang it, rubbing the pain out of his eyes and groaning slightly. He heard a woman's laugh. For a moment, he felt a pang in his chest; it sounded almost like Diane's laugh. The door opened.

"Hello?" A woman with a strong Southern American drawl looked him up and down, leaning against the door frame with an expression of faint amusement. "Can I help you?"

"I'd like to use your telephone, if I may," he mumbled.

"Speak up honey, I can't hear a word you're sayin' to me."

"Your telephone. Could I use it please?"

"Oh, sure sugar. I'll take you to it." Following her to the telephone, Owen got a good look at her. She was about 5 feet 8 inches tall, with long red curls and a slender build. She was wearing a top cut just above her navel and it showed part of an intricate floral tattoo on her lower back, the bottom half obscured by her worn and faded low slung skinny jeans. Her clothing clung to her figure, and peeking at her bare feet he saw chipped green nail polish on her toenails, a silver toe ring and another tattoo, this time a stream of stars following the arch of her foot. Following up her spine, he saw the graceful curve of her back accompanied by the long flaming tendrils of loose hair, marble white skin on her arms and the glinting of her ear piercings. When they reached her phone, she turned around and looked him square in the eyes. Her cheeks had a smattering of charming freckles, and her green eyes glittered intensely with a strange depth. The small silver stud in her nose caught the light and as she pushed back her hair with a long-fingered and jewelled hand her other piercings shone out. Lobe, tragus and cartilage were all pierced. Her face remained natural, with merely a touch of mascara and some smoky eyeliner. Her wrist too was tattooed with a symbol Owen did not recognise, and she spun the rings on her fingers absentmindedly as she spoke again.

"Here's the phone. Know who you're callin'?"

"Only work. I lost my mobile, you see."

"I see. Pretty late to be callin' work, isn't it?"

"Right. I don't seem to have the, ah… correct time… I'm sorry; I didn't catch your name."

"Alyssa."

"Alyssa what, exactly?"

"Alyssa."

"Beautiful name."

"Thanks. And yours?"

"Owen Harper."

"Well then, Owen Harper. I'll leave you to your phone call." Alyssa walked off, curling her hair around her finger and humming.

"The number you have dialled has not been recognised. Please hang up and try again." The phone told Owen, for the fifth time, that none of the Torchwood members had mobile numbers which had been recognised. Angrily, he went to hurl the phone at the floor only to remember it wasn't his own, and so he replaced it on the hook. He wandered into Alyssa's living room and looked for her. She was cuddled up on a beanbag, sucking a red liquid through a straw and giggling at the comedy show she was watching.

"Thanks for letting me use your phone, although I couldn't get through to anyone."

"No problem, darlin'. Glad to be of assistance."

"I was just wondering," Owen helped himself to a chair, and Alyssa raised an eyebrow. "Could you recommend any hotels to me at all? It looks like I'm going to have to stay in the neighbourhood for a while."

"A decent hotel? In the middle of nowhere? Good luck, cherry pop. Your best bet is to stay here I'd say, unless you've got a motor."

"Not exactly, no." Tempted as he was to stay with her, something didn't feel quite right. She spoke with a sarcastic tone, he didn't know her name, and he had yet to see her smile. Everything he had been taught, what he called his Torchwood intuition, twitched and he knew better than to ignore it. But on the other hand, what else did he have? No money, no phone, no friends, no car, no idea where he was… He was, to put it bluntly, fucked.

"In that case, you're probably best off stayin' here. I've got a spare room and an empty house, 'part from me; it'd be a pleasure."

"Thanks. I guess I'll take you up on that one, Miss…?"

"Alyssa."

"Ah yes. I couldn't get a cup of tea, could I?"

"Sure. I'll make it for you." She rose from her beanbag gracefully after draining her glass and, lighting a cigarette from a packet on the mantelpiece, went out of the room and into the kitchen. Checking she'd left, Owen ran over to the desk next to the bay windows and flicked through the papers, looking for any personal information. He found nothing; no bills, no passport, nothing. This lady was definitely not what she seemed to be, and he was damned if he was going to let it lie.

"Find anythin' which took your fancy, darlin'?"

"Oh, I was just looking for a pen. I saw you had the crossword in the paper, and I wanted to fill it out." Owen moved away from the desk with a ballpoint pen and tapped it on his chin.

"Oh honey. I don't get any paper. Better luck next time." She placed the cup down on the side table next to where he'd been sitting. He returned to his seat and took a sip of his tea, which turned out to be coffee. When they had sat in silence for ten minutes, Alyssa's attention fixated on the television. Owen decided to go and try the Torchwood gang again, but he began to feel woozy the second he stood up. He felt his mind slow down and his body begin to sway, and when he went to sit down again she said sweetly, "I don't recall tellin' you that y'all could sit down. It's mighty rude not to pay attention to your host." For the first time, she smiled. And where her incisors should have been, there were neatly sharpened fangs.

***

When Owen next opened his eyes, he was lying down in a bed with a splitting headache. Alyssa was sat next to him, languidly sharpening her fangs.

"Good mornin', sleepyhead. It's time to tell me what you know."

"What do you mean? How long was I out? Why did you knock me out? What the hell are you?!"

"Okay, it's an exchange. I'm a vampire, what in the hell are you?"

"I'm a human!! And vampires don't exist."


End file.
